Only Science
by WolfRune20855
Summary: Sherlock Holmes did not want to get married. Molly Hooper didn't want to either. Then again, things don't always end up the way you want them to. A Victorian Sherlolly AU.
1. Chapter 1

"No, I will not." Molly Hooper shook her head very firmly, making several strands of light brown hair fall down from her neat bun. She pushed them aside with her gloved hand, only to have it fall back in to place.

"Why not?" Her mother asked. "He's a perfectly respectable young man. He comes from a very well off family. It would be a perfect match."

Molly rolled her eyes. She had to resist the urge to let out a sigh. She set down her quill and looked her mother in the eyes. "I'm nineteen mother." She protested. "I'm not ready to be married."

Her mother shook her head. She was upset with Molly and Molly knew it. "I was already married at nineteen." She told Molly for the twentieth time. "I see no reason that you shouldn't be. You already turned down Mr. Moriarty. He was a nice young man." Molly had half a mind to tell her mother that _Mr. Moriarty_ was as nice as she insisted. "You might end up an old maid." Her mother said. She acted like ending up alone was the worst fate possible for a girl.

Molly was tired of her mother's constant reminders that she might be unmarried for her entire life, but she didn't really care. This was a time of progress. This was a time of revolution. It was a time of new inventions and giant advances in science. Molly wanted in on the action. She wanted to do something that would be remembered, not sit around drinking tea as a married woman. Not that there was anything wrong with tea, she just didn't want to be tied down by the bonds of marriage.

Her mother turned to her father, a look of exasperation on her face. Her girl had no interest in marriage and it confused her. When she was Molly's age that was all that she thought of. Molly took after her father. She preferred brains and books to dresses and dances. "She'd rather stay inside with her science experiments." She said. "It's unsuitable for a girl of her station." She placed a hand on her husband's arm. "Talk to her." She begged.

Her husband nodded. With a sigh of relief, her mother left the room. Molly's father sat down on a stool next to her. "Your mother's only concerned for your welfare." He said. Molly nodded, she knew that. "She doesn't want you to be left alone when we die." He continued. "That's all that she's thinking of."

Molly shook her head. "So, she would have me get married to a total stranger?"

Her father nodded. "She's only thinking of you."

Molly laughed. Her mother cared more about Molly finally settling down and having children than about what would happen when they died. "I shall not get married." Molly said very firmly. "I shall not let a stranger take our money away from us." Molly was their only child and heiress to the family fortune.

"You don't even know the young man." Her father protested. "You could end up falling in love."

Molly laughed. "Love is but a childish dream father." She said.

"Will you at least meet him?" He asked. He loved his little girl and did not want her to be unhappy, but the prospect of an unhappy wife was severely more terrifying.

Molly nodded. "I shall." She picked up her quill and started recording data once more. "What does the young Mr. Holmes have to say about the arrangement?" She asked.

Her father shook his head. "I have no idea."

* * *

"No. No. Absolutely not." Sherlock Holmes sat down on the armchair. "I am not getting married."

His mother sighed. "The Hoopers are a nice family." She said. "They are perfectly respectable."

Sherlock shook his head, making a black curl fall in front of his eye. He blew it out of the way, but it fell in front of his eye once more. "I do not mean to get married, and I will not." He said. "Marriage ties a man down forever. There is not escape from it."

His mother sat down in a chair opposite him, trying to ignore his comment about marriage. "You don't even know the girl." She said. "You could end up in love with her."

"Love is illogical." He said. "I am not getting married."

"Why not?" His mother asked. "You're twenty two. You can't stay a detective for your entire life."

"A detective is a fine job." Sherlock protested.

"But you don't make a lot of money dear." His mother said. "Do you?" Sherlock did not want to agree, but she was right he did not make much money with detective work. Sherlock did it simply because he enjoyed it. He really did not care for the money. He believed that money was a nuisance. If he could live without it he would. "Besides you are the second born." She said. "You know what that means."

Sherlock nodded, he knew what it meant. It meant that his older brother, Mycroft Holmes, would inherit the money. He would receive a small portion, but not much. If he ever needed any he would have to beg Mycroft. That was not something he wanted to do.

"The Hoopers have plenty of money." His mother said. "And she is the only heir. You could continue with your detective work."

Sherlock liked the sound of being able to permanently be a detective. It would give him freedom. However, he still didn't believe that he was ready for marriage. Marriage would tie him down. "I don't think that marriage is a suitable choice for me at this moment."

His mother sighed, clearly agitated with him. "Everyone else that you know is married." She said. "John got married last summer."

Sherlock already was aware of the fact. He did not need reminding that his best friend was now busy with domestic life. To busy to solve crimes. To busy preparing for the new baby to see him.

"Besides, she could solve crimes with you." His mother insisted.

Sherlock laughed. "She's a girl. She would probably pass out at the sight of blood." Most girls did. John's wife, Mary, was probably the exception. Then again, Mary had been an assassin before she decided to get married. Sherlock knew for a fact that Miss Hooper had never been an assassin before. She was of a respectable family, which meant she was a respectable girl. That meant she only knew about dresses, tea, and the weather. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Sherlock wanted a wife who knew about more.

His mother shook her head, there was no reasoning with the boy. "You will visit her tomorrow." She said. "Just try to at least grow fond of her. You'll need to be if you're going to get married."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but his mother raised her hand, stopping him. "There is no arguing." She said and left the room. Leaving a very disappointed Sherlock behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

"Molly, wake up. He'll be here in two hours." Molly's mother opened the curtains of her bedroom, letting the morning light shine in. The light met Molly making her eyes hurt. Molly groaned, stuffing her head under her pillow. "Wake up." Her mother pulled the covers off of Molly, exposing her to the cold air. Molly pulled the covers back up. "Molly, he'll be here in two hours." Her mother said.

Molly rolled over and met her mother's gaze. "Two hours is a lot of time mother." She said.

Her mother shook her head, disappointed in her daughter, and moved over to her wardrobe. She pulled out dress after dress, trying to find the perfect one. "Honestly Molly," She said, "you only own black, gray, and white dresses." She pulled out a dark grey dress that was one of Molly's favorites. "You have no taste."

"I like solid colors." Molly protested, joining her mother in front of her wardrobe. She took the dark grey dress from her mother. "I think I'll wear this." She said.

"You will not!" She seemed offended that Molly would even suggest such a thing. She kept sorting through the dresses until she pulled out the only one with any color to it, a bright pink dress from Molly's sixteenth birthday. "It will have to do." She said.

Molly shook her head. She could not wear that dress. She had grown a good two inches since she was sixteen, and had matured a lot. The dress would not fit her. But her mother did not think about that. While she muttered about having to get Molly a new wardrobe, she laced up the back of the pink dress.

Molly gasped as her mother pulled hard, trying to close the dress. Molly hated the lace backing, she like buttons better. They were more practical. Her mother finished pulling and looked over her.

The dress was to short, stopping just above the ankles. The torso was to tight, as it was made for a flat chested sixteen year old not a nineteen year old who was now a woman. The dress just didn't fit her.

Molly's mother shook her head. "This just won't do." She said. "I wish I had something that you could use." She said but there was no way anything of hers would fit Molly. She was a good head taller than her mother. "It will have to do." She said once more. She shook her head, disappointed, and left the room.

Molly sat down on her bed, taking in short sharp breaths in place of her regular long ones. She glanced over at the clock. Had she had the air for it, she would of sighed. She still had an hour and a half left till Mr. Holmes came.

* * *

Sherlock stood in front of the door, looking at the knocker. He believed that you could tell a lot about a household by the state of their knocker. It was a shiny brass knocker. It was polished, which suggested that they had servants who polished it whenever it got dirty. It was strait, not crooked. That annoyed Sherlock, he didn't like things perfectly strait. He grabbed the knocker and banged it three times against the wood. The sound resonated in the quiet street around him.

A maid answered the door. She looked at him with a curious glance then remember her previous instructions that a suitor would be calling on young Miss Hooper. "Come in sir." She said and opened the door so he could come in.

Sherlock entered the house was immediately ushered in to the foyer. It was neatly furnished with very suitable furniture. His mother had been right, they were rich. Sherlock remained standing as the maid took his coat.

A short blonde woman entered the room. She was dressed like a lady and held herself like one. It made Sherlock a little scared of her. She smiled upon seeing Sherlock. "You must be Mr. Holmes." She said. Sherlock nodded, unsure of who the woman was. She was most likely the lady of the household, but one could never tell these days. "I'm Mrs. Hooper." She explained. "Would you like some tea? Molly's my daughter."

"Molly?" The name rolled off his tongue. It was a beautiful name. Sherlock hadn't been told the name of the young Hooper. He hadn't really cared enough to ask. Her name was pretty, though. He sat down and accepted the tea.

Mrs. Hooper turned to the maid. "Wanda, can you go get Molly?" She asked her. Wanda nodded and went upstairs. She returned a second later with a girl stumbling awkwardly behind her. Sherlock stood up as they entered the room, as any gentleman would.

The girl had plain features. Her eyes were light brown, nothing they were not the kind of things that poets would sing about but were pretty enough. Her nose turned up slightly making her look younger than she actually was. On her mouth was a nervous smile, as if she was as unsure as Sherlock about what to do in the moment. She was squeezed in to a dress much to small for her. In Sherlock's opinion it wasn't a very good color on her. Pink didn't look good on her. She kept biting her lip nervously, as if she was about to do something she would later regret.

"I found her in the laboratory miss." Wanda said. _Laboratory_? Sherlock wondered. _She has a laboratory_?

Molly's mother shot her a disapproving look that only made Molly roll her eyes. Sherlock was growing to like this girl better by the second. "I'll speak of it with you later." She said angrily to Molly. She turned to Sherlock. "This is my daughter Molly." She said. "Molly this is-"

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock offered his name.

"Hello." Molly said. There was a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Hello, Miss Hooper." Sherlock . Mrs. Hooper smiled, apparently satisfied, and left. Wanda the maid sat in the corner, a chaperone.

Molly took a biscuit from the tray and then spat it out. "These are disgusting." She said.

"There the ones you ordered miss." Wanda said.

"Well we were clearly not thinking of the same biscuits." Molly said sounding perfectly spoiled. Sherlock wasn't sure he liked it. "I saw Cook making some earlier. Go and get those." She ordered.

"But miss-"

"Go!" Molly screamed. The sound made Sherlock's ears hurt. The maid ran out of the room. Molly sat down on a nearby chair and sighed. Her demeanor had totally changed. "Before you say anything, I don't want to get married." She told Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. He couldn't believe his luck. "I don't want to either." He said.

Molly smiled. "Then our business here is done."

Sherlock nodded. The only thing he had to do was convince his mother that he was still seeing Molly. "I believe it is." He said. He turned to leave, taking his coat from the rack behind him.

"Before you go can I ask something of you?" Molly asked.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked.

"Can you come around once in a while and pretend to call on me?" She asked. "My parents will never leave me alone if they know I'm not actually interested in marriage."

Sherlock smiled, opening the door. "It's a deal." He said and left, closing the door silently behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

"It's an ingenious plan." Sherlock told John.

John raised an eyebrow. "Does your mother or Mycrof know about it?" John was unsure of the wiseness was of Sherlock's plan. It seemed to have a lot of holes in it. John figured it would of simply been easier if Sherlock had just gotten married. It was definitely less trouble.

"Of course not." Sherlock said. "That's the whole point." Sherlock knew that John opposed his plan.

"And what does Miss Hooper have to say about it?" John asked.

"She's the one who suggested it." Sherlock said.

That surprised John. All of the girls he knew wanted to get married. It also surprised him that Sherlock hadn't come up with the plan all by himself. "Really?" He asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said. "Now will you help me or not?"

John nodded. "I'll help you. Though I don't know how much help I'll be." He said. "There's a baby on the way."

"I know." John had told Sherlock several times already. It seemed to be the only thing on his friend's mind. Sherlock wondered if that was what it was like being married. If so, he had no desire to rush towards that kind of life.

"Mary's so happy." John continued. Sherlock nodded, trying to be polite. He poured himself another glass tea. "I don't know what we'll name him though." John said thoughtfully.

"Sherlock." Sherlock offered.

"And if it's a girl?" John raised a eyebrow.

"Sherlock can be a girl's name." Sherlock said defensively.

"No it can't." Said John. "I think that Gertrude's a good name."

Sherlock shook his head. "You have no taste in names." He said. "Let Mary name it."

"That's a good idea." John said. He continued to ramble on about baby names for a while.

The doorbell rang. Thankful for an escape from John's banters, Sherlock got up and answered it. "Message for Mr. Holmes." The boy said. He held out a sealed letter. Sherlock took the letter and gave the boy a coin.

"What is it?" John asked as Sherlock read the letter.

"Lestrade wants us down town." Sherlock smiled at John. "A man's been killed." John sighed as Sherlock grabbed his coat from the coat closet. _Just for once couldn't they give them some peace and quiet?_

* * *

Detective Inspector Lestrade was perhaps Scotland Yard's finest. He was of average hight and had, up to the time he met Sherlock Holmes, sported a mustache. He now was clean shaven. Rumor had that it was because of the constant riducule he'd gotten from the consulting detective. Most people thought that he was many years older than he actually was because his hair was already gray and his eyes usually had bags under them. That was, as Sherlock had pointed out to John more than once, mostly due to overworking and stress.

He smiled as Sherlock and John approached the crime scene. It had been an age since he'd seen the consulting detective and the doctor. "How's it been?" He asked them.

John smiled. "Mary's pregnant." He beamed. Sherlock rolled his eyes. His friend seemed to only have a one track mind.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

Lestrade chuckled. Sherlock was not a sentimental man. He usually just wanted the facts. Never did he want any of the feelings. "We found the body on the tracks this morning." He said as they walked down to the sight. "There's nothing unusual about that, but there's no marks on the body. Not even a bruise."

"Who was he?" Sherlock asked.

"A gentleman of some sort." Lestrade said. The fact he was a gentleman made it all the more confusing to him.

As they neared the scene, Sherlock noticed a girl stooped over the dead body. She wore a plain grey dress that fit her perfectly. Her hair was up in a bun. In her hand was a magnifying glass. She seemed to be inspecting the body. Her back was to them, but Sherlock had a pretty good idea of who she was. "Who's that?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade smiled. "She's one of the best people we've got at identifying causes of death. Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, this is Miss Hooper."

* * *

"Good morning Miss Hooper." A familiar voice came from behind Molly. "I have to say that the dress you are currently wearing was much better than the pink one from yesterday." Molly turned around, knowing who's voice that was. Sherlock Holmes stood looking at her, his hands behind his back. _Tall, dark, and handsome._

"What are you doing here?" She asked. It came out more harshly than she intended.

"You know each other?" Lestrade asked her.

Molly nodded. "We're friends." If friends was the right word.

"Acquaintances." Sherlock corrected.

"Yeah." Molly said rubbing her hands together. "Acquaintances."

Sherlock's friend, Mr. Watson, smiled. "You're Miss Hooper?" He asked. Molly nodded. "Sherlock's told me a lot about you." He said. Molly wondered what it was Sherlock had told him. There wasn't much to tell. "I'm John." He stuck his hand out for Molly to shake as if she was a business man. Molly appreciated the gesture greatly. To many times she had been written off to the side as just another girl. _One day,_ she thought, _things would change._

Sherlock walked over to the dead body and started examining it. Lestrade looked over at Molly. "What's the cause of death?" He asked her.

Molly shook her head. "It seems to be natural." She said. "Old age. Maybe a stroke. Not murder." It was the sixth dead body she'd looked at for Lestrade. Her mother had banned her from visiting crime scenes two months ago, but since Mr. Holmes's visit she'd opened up and let her do this one.

Lestrade looked over to Sherlock. "What is he doing here then?" He asked him.

"Obviously, somebody put it here." Sherlock said. He moved around the body. "The question is why?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Maybe they had gambling debts left unpaid." Molly could tell that the case didn't really matter to him now that he knew the man had died of natural causes.

"He didn't gamble." Sherlock said. Lestrade nodded, seeming to take Sherlock's words a the truth.

"How do you know that?" Molly challenged him. She didn't quite know why she did so, just that it seemed impossible to know a dead person's personal habits.

"His left pinky." Sherlock turned his strange blue eyes on Molly. "There's a ring."

"So?" Molly asked.

"If he had been a gambler, he would of sold the ring. He would have needed the money. If the person who pushed him on to the tracks had been after money, he would of taken the ring. It's worth several pounds." Sherlock said.

"And you can tell that all by a ring on his pinky finger." Molly asked.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"Wow." Molly sighed. He was quite extraordinary.

"Don't encourage him." John said making Molly laugh. "His head's already big enough."

"So what happened?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock looked over the man once more. "I'd say that the body was taken from a nearby morgue and put on the train tracks." He said. Molly nodded. His theory made sense.

Molly's chauffeur, a tall skinny man who never smiled, came over to where they were standing. He turned his nose up at the sight of the dead body. "Your mother needs you at home miss." He said, his voice monotone.

Molly nodded. Her mother had been kind to let her go, she'd be testing her by staying any longer. "Thank you for bringing me in on this." She told Lestrade. She was truly grateful.

"Thank you for coming." He said. They shook hands. "I'm afraid Anderson isn't as good as you are." Molly smiled and left with the chauffeur. She could feel their eyes on her as she left.

"She studies dead bodies for fun." She heard John say. Molly wanted to laugh at the statement. She guessed that studying dead bodies wasn't what normal girls did for fun.

"Apparently." Sherlock said.

"Are you sure you don't want to get married?" John asked his best friend. Molly climbed in to the carriage and didn't hear Sherlock's response.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly winced as the seamstress poked her with a pin for the sixth time. "'ill you stand still Miss?" She ordered more than asked. Molly did her best to straitened up and stand still.

Her mother beamed at her and walked around, inspecting her from every angle. "Isn't this the best?" She asked Molly. "Now you'll be the image of modern fashion."

Molly sighed, making the seamstress poke her again. She did not want to be the image of modern fashion. She wanted to be the image of modern science. She wanted people in the future to look back and say what great things Molly Hooper had done, not that she was fashionable.

Her mother picked up another bolt of fabric laid out all around them. There was every shade under the sun. There were pinks, greens, reds, blues, lavenders, but not a single black, grey, or white in sight. Molly knew that her mother had done that on purpose. If her only daughter was getting a new wardrobe, it would be only the best. In Molly's mother's opinion that meant bright and bold.

"Of course we'll need to order some hats." She smiled. Molly's sagged in disappointment.

"'ill you stand still?" The seamstress asked, annoyed.

Molly straitened up. "You're doing to much mother." Molly said, trying to get her mother to slow down her eagerness to change Molly's appearance.

"Nonsense." Her mother said. "You'll soon to be a married woman." Her comment made Molly feel a little guilty. After all, her mother knew nothing of the true plans Molly had.

"We've only seen each other once." Molly protested.

Her mother smiled. "Only once? Bernard told me that you saw him the other day on your outing." Molly cursed Bernard under her breath. _Why did he have to talk so much? _"Of course, there's the matter of him formally proposing." She said. "A minor problem."

Wanda came running in to the room, falling over herself as she entered. "Mr. Holmes is here to see Miss Hooper." She panted.

Molly's mother clapped her hands like an giddy little school girl. "Show him in Wanda." She said. Wanda ran back down the stairs. She turned to Molly. "Isn't this just the best?" She asked her.

No, Molly thought. But she was thankful for the escape from the fitting.

Her mother ran around the room. "What to wear?" She said nervously. It was almost as if she was the one who was seeing Mr. Holmes. She picked up a dark blue and purple dress that was already finished. "Quickly Molly." She frantically helped her daughter in to the dress. It was rather uncomfortable, and made Molly itch. She also didn't like the giant bustle sticking on to the back of the dress. She stood back and looked over her daughter. "It will have to do." She pulled Molly down the stairs after her.

Mr. Holmes was standing right in front of the door awkwardly looking around. He was obviously not comfortable with the space as he still had his hat, coat, and gloves on. Molly's mother still beamed at the sight of him. "Do you want something to eat Mr. Holmes?" She asked him. He shook his head.

"Actually, I was on my way to a luncheon at a dear friends house. I was wondering if Miss Hooper would like to come with me." He said.

Molly's mother looked him over, obviously disappointed that he wouldn't be staying for tea. Molly, however, was glad for the opportunity to escape the house. Even if it was only for lunch. "It would be my pleasure Mr. Holmes." She said. Sherlock offered her his arm, and they left. Leaving her mother shocked behind her.

As soon as the door closed, Molly turned to the youngest Holmes brother. "Where is this luncheon?" She asked.

Sherlock smiled. "I lied." He said.

Molly nodded. "I thought you did." She said. She glanced at him as he helped her climb in to the carriage. "So where are we going?" She asked.

"The Tower of London. There's been a break in." He said. Molly laughed. "What is it?" He asked her.

"Nothing." Molly smiled. "It's just that it's much better than luncheon."

* * *

Lestrade was waiting outside for them when the carriage pulled up. He raised an eyebrow as Sherlock helped Molly out, but said nothing of it. It was common knowledge that John didn't help Sherlock with as many cases as he used to, perhaps Molly was replacing John. He was also surprised to see that Molly was dressed in blue, not her usual black or grey. "Sherlock." He shook hands with the young man. "Miss Hooper." He shook hands with her as well.

Molly glanced around the Tower. She had never seen it before. She had heard of it, and that it stored the Crown Jewels. However, the Crown Jewels were not on display to the public.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

Lestrade shook his head. "There's been a break in. The Crown Jewels were stolen."

Molly's mouth opened in surprise. "Taken?" She asked. She had thought it was impossible for them to be stolen. "By whom?"

"I don't know." He said. "I was hoping you would be able to tell us, Sherlock."

He lead the two of them in to the Tower. Where the crown was supposed to be, there was nothing. Sherlock shook his head. Who would want a bulky crown?

Molly seemed to be thinking the same thing. She turned to Lestrade. "Did you see who broke in?"

"No." Lestrade said.

"Are there any guards who were on duty when they got stolen?" Molly asked. Sherlock whistled under his breath. She was good.

"They'll all dead." Lestrade said.

"All dead?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"So there's a killer? Who broke in and stole the Crown Jewels? And he killed every guard on duty? And _nobody_ saw him do any of it?" Molly asked. Lestrade nodded.

"I wouldn't say nobody." Sherlock interrupted.

"What do you mean?" Molly turned her brown eyes on Sherlock.

"There's always someone watching." He said. "If you know who to ask."

* * *

The sun was going down by the time that Sherlock got back to his house. His mother was waiting for him. "Where were you?" She asked. She did not approve of her sun staying out past supper.

"I was with Miss Hooper." Sherlock answered, trying to get his mother off of his back.

"Really?" His mother was surprised to hear that he had been out with the young lady. Just a week ago he'd been complaining about seeing her. Now he was coming back late from visiting her. Still, she had her doubts. "You didn't take her to a crime scene, did you?" She asked. "Girls don't like that kind of thing."

"No." Sherlock lied. "We went out to lunch." It was part of the truth. They had grabbed lunch from a second rate restaurant.

His mother clapped her hands. "What's she like?" She asked her son.

"She's a rather remarkable young lady." Sherlock said, taking off his coat. It surprised him even as he said it. He really meant it.


	5. Chapter 5

"You've been spending a lot of time with Mr. Holmes." Molly's mother grinned at her from across the table.

Molly nodded, it was true. Once a week Mr. Holmes would come by and they'd go and solve crimes or do experiments together. They would spend hours outside under the sun trying to solve some foreign mystery. Or they would find themselves crammed in to the small laboratory, pouring over the remains of a gruesome death. For the first time in her life, Molly found herself enjoying the company of someone her own age. She would even go as far as to say that they were friends. Just friends though. There was no romance between the two of them at least Molly hoped there wasn't. Her mother definitely wouldn't approve if she knew what they were truly doing. She would probably throw him out of the house if she did know. The thought made Molly laugh. It would be a funny sight to see her short little mother throw someone as tall as Sherlock on to the street.

Molly's father smiled at seeing his daughter laugh. He had thought that she would be strongly opposed to this match, but she seemed to be doing exactly the opposite. It made him proud of her. She was finally growing in to a woman.

Molly's mother looked over at her husband. He nodded. "You should invite Mr. Holmes to the Yuletide Ball."

Molly's spoon dropped in to her soup. "The Yuletide Ball?" She stuttered. Every year her parents would throw a huge ball, and invite only the finest people. In the previous years, Molly had hidden herself in the corner and not talked to anyone. Molly had no opposition to asking Mr. Holmes to the ball, but if he went they would be expected to dance. Molly was a good dancer and enjoyed it a lot. She doubted Mr. Holmes would feel the same about it though.

"Of course." Her mother said. "The two of you have been courting for a good month."

Molly nodded. Sometimes she forgot that her parents were unaware of their little plot. "I sometimes forget that it has been that long." She said.

Molly's mother nodded. "It's like that when you're in love." She said.

Molly's throat felt dry. _You are not in love,_ she told herself. _Mr. Holmes is a nice young man with no interest in you what so ever. You are not in love. Mother just thinks that you are._

"Give the girl a break." Her father said. "The feelings are recent for her." _I do not have feelings for him!_ Molly screamed inside her head, but she wondered if it was true. "I'm sure when Mr. Holmes comes by tomorrow, she'll invite him."

"I will." Molly said more to herself than her mother. _After all we are friends. Surly friends can dance together._

* * *

Sherlock stood in the entryway, his hat and gloves removed. He wondered once more why he was even there. He had no case for him and Miss Hooper to solve. He doubted that she had any sort of experiment for them. So, what was he doing there? He shrugged. _It's because Molly's parents expect you to be,_ he told himself. _That's why. If you weren't here they might question, and your charade would be found out._

"So what do you have for us today?" Molly broke through his thoughts. Sherlock looked at the girl. She wore a soft green dress that fitted her very well. She looked rather pretty in it too.

"Um." Sherlock nervously played with his gloves. "I was wondering if you would like to go riding?" He asked. He was unsure why he asked her to go riding. Riding was the kind of thing lovers did. They were not lovers.

Molly's eyes widened in surprise. She obviously hadn't thought that he would ask to go riding. "I'd love to." She answered a second later.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. "Do you have a horse?" He asked her.

She laughed. "Of course I do." She said. She pulled a pair of riding boots from a nearby closet and yanked them on to her feet. "Let's go." She said, and practically ran out of the house.

Molly's mare was a short white horse with big brown eyes. _Fitting_, Sherlock thought as he saddle his own horse. Molly saddled her horse and climbed on top. She was remarkable agile for someone in a skirt. "Are you ready to go Mr. Holmes?" She asked.

"Call me Sherlock." Sherlock said, surprising himself.

"Call me Molly." Molly said. "Are you ready to go?"

Sherlock mounted his own horse. "Are you any good at riding?" He asked. He was not the quickest rider himself.

"The best." Molly answered confidently. "Would you like to race?" She asked. Sherlock eyed her over. She was riding sidesaddle and had a distinct disadvantage.

"Are you sure you want to?" He asked.

"Of course." Molly said. She glance at the gate. "First one to the gate is the winner." She challenged Sherlock.

"Alright." Sherlock had barely uttered the word when Molly took off. Sherlock spurred his horse after her but already knew that he had lost. Molly moved with speed. The horse and the rider seemed to become one as she sprinted to the finish. Sherlock rode to the gate were she was waiting for him.

"Do you wish to race again." She asked him. Sherlock shook his head, out of breath. The rode in silence for a few minutes. After a while Molly asked, "Would you like to come to our Yuletide Ball?"

"Yuletide Ball?" Sherlock asked unsure of what she spoke of.

Molly nodded. "It's a family tradition." She explained. "It's just a silly dance on Christmas Eve. You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I would love to go." Sherlock said. Molly seemed surprised with his answer. "I don't have to come if you-"

"No." Molly interrupted him. "It's fine if you come. I didn't think you'd like to be social." She said nervously.

Sherlock smiled. "I don't." He said. "I like to dance."


	6. Chapter 6

"So you are going?" John asked Sherlock. They were in Sherlock's room where Sherlock was getting dressed for the Hooper's Yuletide Ball.

Sherlock turned to his best friend and rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm going John." He said. "It would be rude not to."

"And they still think that you're courting Miss Hooper?" John asked.

"Would they have invited me if they didn't?"

John shook his head. They would not have. They'd probably kick him out of their house. "And do you have feelings for Miss Hooper?"

"I do not have any feelings for Miss Hooper whatsoever." Sherlock said it very matter-of-factly, but John could still hear the subtle hesitation in his friend's voice. Maybe there was a little more to it than Sherlock let on.

It seemed to John as if Sherlock was telling himself more than his friend. "It's okay if you do." John told Sherlock.

Sherlock angrily pulled his hat off of the hat stand. "I do not have feelings for Molly." Sherlock growled and slammed the door behind himself.

* * *

Molly was tapping her foot impatiently. _Why on earth me I tapping my foot? _She wondered to herself. She glanced around the room. Several of the guests had already arrived and started dancing. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a curly black head of hair. _What are you doing?_ She asked herself. _He does not have feelings for you! You do not have feelings for him! _She had to keep reminding herself of the factor.

"Dare I hope that you were looking for me?" Came a deep voice behind her. Molly turned to see Sherlock. He looked remarkable in his dress clothes, like a prince out of a fairy tale. His hair was slicked back on to his head but a single curl was coming free. It was charming. "You look most handsome." He told Molly.

Molly looked down at her dress to see what she was wearing. It was dark red with green holly embroidered on the sleeves and skirt. She had protested with her mother over the need of the new dress, especially since she already had a whole new wardrobe, but her mother had won in the end. "Thank you." She said.

Sherlock smiled showing perfectly strait teeth. "Would you like to dance?" He offered Molly his arm. Molly looked out at the crowd of dancers, suddenly scared. It would be the first time she had danced at one of her parent's parties. What if she embarrassed herself? What would her parents think of her then? "You may find that I'm a rather good dancer." Sherlock said.

Molly took Sherlock's arm. If she embarrassed herself, at least she'd do it with someone else. Sherlock lead her to the floor just as a waltz began to play. He rested one hand on her waist and took the other one in her own. He had been truthful when he said he was a good dancer. He spun her around and around the ballroom floor never once faltering in his step. He moved with the music with such grace and agility that some of the dancers around them stopped dancing and watched. Sherlock didn't seem to notice. The whole time he looked down at Molly. His startling blue eyes on her soft brown ones. It made Molly feel different, like he appreciated her for who she was.

"How is your holiday going?" Sherlock asked her, breaking through her thoughts.

Molly looked up at him, meeting his eyes. They were so pretty, like the color of the sea after a storm. She shook her head clear of such thoughts. "It's been going very well." She told him, not really concentrating on her words. He was so very close. "How has yours been?"

"It's getting better by the moment." He answered. His hand tightened around her waist as he spun her around again. A jolt went through Molly as he did so. _Stop it!_ She told herself. He ran his eyes over her. Molly felt uncomfortable. He was not deducing her, she knew that look from the many hours spent solving crimes with him. This was different. There was something else in his gaze and it made Molly feel strange. All of a sudden it hit her. _Love_.

The song ended and they stopped. Sherlock looked at Molly. The people around them clapped, still, Sherlock did not take his eyes off of Molly. Molly looked at the crowd around them then back up at Sherlock. He was still staring dawn at her with his piercing blue eyes. Sherlock bent down and kissed her. It was so soft that Molly wasn't sure if it was real. It surprised her that she liked it. She had never been kissed before, not by anyone. She kissed him back for a brief second. _What are you doing?_ She asked herself. Conscious of the people around them watching, Molly pulled away. "Why did you do that?" She whispered.

"It was logical." He said. He looked down at her. His eyes had turned back to the cold calculating ones he usually wore. "The people expected it of us."

Molly nodded. Expected. Logical. There had been nothing behind the kiss. No feelings. No emotions. Just logic. Molly turned away, trying to hide the hurt in her eyes. "I'm going to get some punch." She said, her voice strained. "Don't let me keep you from dancing with other people." She walked over to the punch table and hid her face behind a glass of punch. She had been a fool. Love was only a childish dream for little girls. It did not happen in real life.

* * *

Sherlock exited the Hooper house and rubbed his lip, reliving the kiss. It had been sweet. It had been nice. But why had he done it? The answer flashed across his mind for a second but Sherlock dismissed it. He could not be falling in love. Love was illogical. Love was impractical. Love was not real.


	7. Chapter 7

"I want to break off the engagement." Molly watched as her mother's expression turned from her usual happy to confused.

"Why would you want to do that?" She asked. "You and Mr. Holmes are getting along so well."

_We were,_ Molly thought then shook her head. "We are not right for each other." Molly said. She didn't know how else to explain it to her mother.

"Not right for each other?" Mrs. Hooper practically screamed. "What do you mean?"

Molly looked at her mother. She wouldn't understand. Her mother had never felt heartbreak. _Heartbreak? Was that truly what it was?_ Molly had tried to talk herself out of it. She had tried to tell herself that Sherlock meant nothing to her. She had tried over and over again to convince herself that her feelings were nothing but a made up fantasy, but they weren't. Over the years she had built up walls yet down they fell with a single kiss. She didn't want to face the truth. The truth that Molly Hooper was in love with a man that didn't love her back. That was the worst possible feeling for her.

"Mr. Holmes has no intention of getting married." Molly told her mother. It was true. She'd known it since the beginning.

"What do you mean?" Her mother asked.

Molly sat down in a nearby chair and took a deep breath. She had kept the secret from her parents for to long. She should of just told them the truth right away. If she had she wouldn't feel all of the pain that she currently did. She looked her mother in the eyes. They were so hopeful. They looked as if they thought that she was only going through a phase. That she would wake up tomorrow and say that she was mistaken. Molly wished that it was true. She wished it with all of her heart. But no matter how hard she wished it wouldn't come true. She too a deep breath. "There's something I haven't told you."

* * *

"So it's off?"

Sherlock nodded. "It's for the best." He said. "To be honest, it's a relief." John looked in to Sherlock's eyes. There was something in there that wasn't relief. Pain. Loss. Sorrow. Heartbreak. _Did his friend truly love Miss Hooper? _John had thought that Sherlock was incapable of love.

"Are you okay with it?" John asked his best friend.

"Of course I'm okay with it." Sherlock said to quickly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

John shrugged. "You could have developed a certain fondness for Miss Hooper."

Sherlock turned his gaze upon his friend. It scared him that John had come so close to the truth. "Why would I do that?" He tried to hide the fear in his voice.

"I don't know." John said. "I just thought since the two of you were spending so much time together..." He trailed off.

Sherlock glanced down at his feet for a brief second. He had developed a certain fondness for Molly. He didn't know why he had. He usually didn't get attached to people._ She's the one who called it off, _Sherlock told himself, _she doesn't like you. If she did she wouldn't of called it off._ Sherlock shook his head clear of such thoughts and glanced out the window. It looked as if it was going to rain. He would need to leave soon if he wanted to stay dry.

"I think I should leave." Sherlock told his friend. He took his coat from the coat closet and pulled on his hat and glove. "It was nice for you to have me over." He told his friend.

"It was a pleasure." John said more out of manners than actual sincerity. Sherlock nodded and left the house.

Sherlock was halfway home when it started to rain. "Great." He muttered sarcastically. He quickened his pace. The rain came down harder and harder until it got to the point were Sherlock could barely see a foot in front of him. He started running towards his house. He didn't want to be late for supper.

"Oof!" Sherlock ran in to a slight figure. The girl fell down on to the ground. Sherlock helped her up. As she stood up, Sherlock got a good look at her face. "Molly?" The name flew out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Mr. Holmes." She said very stiffly. There was no kindness in her voice, and it scared Sherlock. She usually sounded so nice. It sounded foreign to hear coldness in her voice. She tried to rub the mud out of her skirt and failed. She began to walk in the other direction towards her house.

"Allow me to walk you home." Sherlock said. His house was only a street over in the other direction. Molly's was a few blocks away.

Molly looked him over. There was something in her eyes. _What was it?_ _Fear? _"I am very capable of finding my house by myself." She said.

Sherlock nodded. "I'm quite sure that you are capable, but it's not safe for a woman to walk alone in the streets of London."

Molly seemed to take his words in to consideration. They were true. "You may walk with me if you wish." She finally said.

Sherlock smiled and they walked together in silence until they reached her house. "Are we still friends?" Sherlock asked Molly.

Molly hesitated for a moment then nodded. "Of course." She said. Sherlock watched Molly enter the house. Sherlock smiled to himself, even covered in mud and dripping wet she was beautiful.

By the time Sherlock Holmes got back to his house he was soaking wet and late for supper, but he didn't mind. Molly Hooper was a wonderful woman. It was a shame that she didn't feel the same way about him.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Mrs. Hooper asked Molly one more time.

Molly shook her head. "I'll be fine here on my own mother." She said. "What use would I be at a party?"

Her mother shrugged. "You could meet a nice boy." She suggested.

Molly sighed. Nice boys didn't exist. She had learned that lesson four months ago. "Go and enjoy yourself." She told her parents. She would just be awkward at a party.

"Are you sure?" Her mother asked.

"She said she'll be fine." Molly's father pulled at his wife's arm. "We're going to be late."

"Alright then. We'll be home at ten." Molly's mother hugged her. "Have fun." She said.

Molly wanted to laugh at the statement. _Have fun with an empty house_. It was Wanda's day off and Bernard was driving her parents. She smiled as her parents left. She could have fun with an empty house. After all, she had been entertaining herself since she was three.

Molly climbed the stairs to her laboratory. She paused at the entrance. A pair of gloves sat on the table. Molly picked them up and held them against her chest. Sherlock had left the pair five months earlier. He'd never asked for them back. Maybe he didn't realize that she still had them. Maybe he didn't care. Molly had thrown them in the trash or out the window many times but they always ended up back on the table.

Molly sat down on a chair facing the window. The stars had just begun to come out. She watched them move to their place in the sky. They were so beautiful. She rubbed the gloves between her fingers. They reminded her of Sherlock's eyes. The galaxy within a small sphere. Whenever she looked in to them they seemed to consume her just as the stars did. She got lost in them.

Molly stopped short remembering what Sherlock had said to her. _Logic not Love_. That was his way of life. He was not capable of loving. Behind his beautiful eyes was a cold heart just like the stars. She could trick herself in to thinking that they were the most perfect and beautiful thing in the whole of creation yet all one of them was was a ball of gas. A useless ball of gas a million miles away. They could not feel. They could not love. All that they could do was move in the sky, making the night more interesting and blocking ones view of the moon.

Molly moved down the hallway to her bedroom in a trance. She paused in front of the big grandfather clock in the hallway. The hands read twelve-fifty. Had she been in the laboratory that long? She watched as Wanda snuck in to the house. "Are my parents home yet?" She asked her.

Wanda shook her head. "No miss." She said.

Molly shrugged and trudged up to her bedroom. Maybe they'd gotten carried away. It would not have been the first time. They often stayed later than they planned at their friends' houses. Molly laid down in her bed. Within minutes she was asleep.

A banging at the door awoke Molly. She rolled over. It was much to early to get up. The banging continued. Molly sighed and opened the door. Wanda stood there, tears streaming down her face. "Miss." She cried.

"What is it?" Molly asked ushering the maid in to her room. She offered Wanda her handkerchief.

"There's...there's...a letter for you." She stuttered. She handed Molly a letter with the seal broken. "I'm sorry." Wanda said. "I was curious. People don't usually send mail at this hour."

Molly nodded and tried to read the letter as her eyes adjusted to the dark. "What is in it?" She asked the maid.

"He has your parents." Wanda said.

"Who?"

"The man who sent the letter." The maid said. "There's an address in the envelope." The maid started to sob harder. "He said for you to come." Molly stood up. She pulled on a pair of trousers that she kept in the bottom of her wardrobe. She stuffed her hair in to a hat. "Where are you going?" Asked Wanda.

"To find someone who can help." Molly stuffed the letter in to her pocket and jumped out of the window.

* * *

Sherlock was awoken by a manservant at the door. He rolled over in his bed. "What do you want?" He asked.

"There's a boy here to see you." The manservant said. "Should I turn him away?"

Sherlock sat up. "No." He said. It was probably one of the street rats that he recruited to spy for him. "Tell him I'll be down in a second." The manservant nodded and left. Sherlock climbed out of bed and pulled on a more casual workers outfit. He looked outside. It was dreadfully early. The news must have been important.

Sherlock ran down the stairs. "This better be goo-" He stopped seeing who the boy was. "Molly?" He asked. He hadn't spoken to Molly in months. It was odd to see her at three in the morning dressed in boy's clothes. Her hair was stuffed in to a cap so it would be easy to mistake her for a boy, but Sherlock could never have mistaken her. He knew her face all to well. It had haunted his dreams for past five months.

She nodded. She opened her mouth but no words came out. She handed Sherlock a letter. Sherlock's eyes widened as he read it.

"Who is this from?" He asked.

"I do not know." Molly croaked. "I was hoping that you would."

Sherlock looked over the letter. Put there were no telltale signs. Not a signature. Not a recognizable seal. He looked it over, reading the address. "This is in Wales." He finally decided.

Molly looked at the letter. "I have to go to Wales?" She asked.

Sherlock looked up at her. "What do you mean you have to?" He asked.

Molly pointed at the last line in the letter. "It says right there that I have to come to the address." It seemed to Sherlock like she didn't care what happened to her. All that she wanted to do was find her parents. She was willing to do anything to save them. Sherlock admired her for that.

"You can't go alone." He said grabbing his jacket. For once she didn't correct him.


	9. Chapter 9

They rode in awkward silence. Both of them wanted to speak but neither of them knew what to speak of. Molly couldn't stand it anymore. It had been going on for hours. She turned to Sherlock. Now that the initial rush of fear had passed by she wondered why Sherlock had helped her. He owed her nothing. "Why did you help me?" She asked Sherlock.

Sherlock turned to her, his blue eyes seemed to pierce through her. Could they see her thoughts? Did they know how she felt? He smiled. "You're my friend Molly." He said very causally. Molly nodded. Friend. For some reason she had been hoping for something more. A small hint that he was in love with her. Just the smallest piece of hope. "Why did you come to me?" Sherlock asked her.

Molly shrugged. What could she tell him? That he had been on her mind for the past five months? _I love you._ She wanted to scream it in to the night. She wanted to write it all over the world. She wanted to record notes with him for hours just to be able to be by his side. She wanted to listen to him deduce for hours just to hear his voice. She wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. But she could not do any of those things for he did not feel the same way she did. He did not love her. He had never seen her as anything other than just another silly girl. A silly little girl with unrealistic fantasies. "I needed help." Molly said. "You seemed like the most logical choice."

Sherlock nodded. He seemed to accept her answer and it bothered Molly. Had she said something wrong? They didn't speak again. The sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon when they stopped at an inn. They stabled their horses and walked inside.

"Can I help you?" The inn keeper, a pudgy man with a strange mustache, asked. Molly couldn't help but notice that Sherlock's nose crinkled at the sight of his mustache. She had heard the rumor about Lestrade but didn't believe that it was true.

"I'd like to rent a room. My brother and I are passing through town." Sherlock said. It took Molly a minute to realize that she was his brother. The thought almost made her laugh. Sherlock paid and took the key from the man.

"Can I get anything else for the two of you sir?" The innkeeper asked.

Sherlock looked skeptically at the innkeeper. He didn't seem to want to order something to eat. Molly, on the other hand, was starving. She hadn't had anything to eat since the small piece of bread she'd had earlier that morning. Her stomach growled rather loudly at the idea of food. Sherlock grinned at her, he seemed to have noticed the growl. Molly could feel the blood rushing to her face. She was sure that she was as red as a tomato. "We'll have some food." Sherlock said.

The innkeeper nodded. "I'll have it up to your room." He said. Sherlock nodded and climbed up the stairs to their room.

It wasn't small but it wasn't large either. It was somewhere in between. There was a fireplace in the center of the room and a bed not far from it. Molly looked around the room for another bed. She stopped, realizing that there was no other bed. There was only one. Sherlock seemed to have been thinking the same thing. "I'll take the floor." He said.

"Thanks." Molly said quietly.

A serving maid brought their dinner a short while later. She was a rather pretty girl who kept smiling at Sherlock and leaning far more down than was needed to pour him a mug of ale. A pang of jealousy shot through Molly. She shook it away. She had no reason to be jealous of this serving girl. Sherlock paid her no attention. He glanced over at Molly, who was looking hesitantly at her mug of ale. "What's wrong?" He asked her.

Molly shook her head. "I've never had ale before." She said.

"'ever 'ad ale?" Molly saw Sherlock wince at the serving girl's grammar mistakes. "Wat kind o' man are 'ou?"

"He's only fourteen." Sherlock said. Molly wanted to hit him for saying that she was so young. Then thought it better not to. The serving girl opened her mouth to speak but Sherlock interrupted her, "Leave us." He said. The girl turned around and left. They ate in silence for the rest of the time.

Finally, Molly decided to go to bed. She laid in bed watching Sherlock. His back was turned to her facing the fire. The fire outlined him in an outlandish glow, making him look like a roman god. _Stop it!_ She told herself. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. The last image in her mind before she fully fell asleep was a tall black haired man leaning down to kiss her.

* * *

Sherlock could feel Molly's eyes on him. He turned around trying to meet those beautiful eyes, but they were closed. She wasn't looking at him with those soft brown eyes. Maybe he'd just imagined it. Part of him was glad not to have to face them. Those eyes that could melt him with a single look. The way they had pleaded to him the other night. He couldn't have said no even if he wanted to.

She had that effect on him. Whenever he was near her he was only aware of her. Nobody else was even visible next to her. It was what had prompted him to kiss her that night. She had returned it for a moment. Sherlock had thought for a moment that maybe she liked him. She had made it clear since that she thought him a friend. Nothing more. Sherlock closed his eyes, it was time that he accepted the truth.

The truth that he was in love with Miss Molly Hooper and Miss Molly Hooper was not in love with him.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock opened his eyes to find that he was facing Molly. She was turned over on her side facing him a half-smile on her face. Sherlock wondered what it was that made her smile. I_f only I could get her to smile like that_, Sherlock thought to himself. Her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He would be happy to try and spend the rest of his life making her smile.

Molly rolled over in the bed. Her hair had fallen out of her cap while she was asleep and was now framing her face. Outlining her features. She looked so peaceful just lying there. So peaceful. So perfect. So vulnerable. Sherlock felt the need to protect her from whoever wanted to hurt her. From the person that had kidnapped her parents. There would only be pain to come. He wanted to stop that pain.

Molly's eyes opened and met his. For a moment the eye contact held, speaking unspeakable words. _She does not love you._ The words burned through his mind. They ripped a giant hole through his chest. "We need to leave." Sherlock said, standing up. He pulled his saddlebag off of the fireplace mantle. He tossed Molly an apple out of it. She caught it.

"Where do we go now?" She asked sleepily. She tried to stifle a yawn. It was obvious that she didn't want Sherlock to see it. _Why was that?_ He wondered.

"The given address isn't that far from here." He said. He turned around to see her reaction. She was nodding. Her face showed no signs of emotion. No signs of sadness or pain. Sherlock applauded her at her ability to hide her feelings. It would help her in the future. "About half a days ride."

Molly nodded at hearing his statement. She climbed out of bed and stuffed her long hair in to her cap, not even bothering to tie it up. She was tired. _Had she had nightmares? What of? What scared Molly Hooper?_ Sherlock shook his head. _Love is a chemical defect. Only an idiot like you would develop such a fault._ Sherlock shouldered his saddlebag. "Are you ready to go Mark?" He asked her using the name he'd decided to give her.

Molly looked around the room expecting someone to appear out of thin air. Her eyes widened as she realized that Sherlock was talking to her. "Me?" She pointed to herself. "I'm Mark?"

Sherlock laughed and nodded. "Yes." He said.

Molly smiled and rubbed her hands together. "Well, I always wanted to be a boy." She said. "That way I could do whatever I wanted and not have to get marri-" her voice trailed off. She paused for a moment and looked at Sherlock. She seemed to be searching for something from him. Some sign of emotion. Whatever she was searching for, she didn't find it. She shook her head. "Mark's as good of a name as any other one." She said with a false smile. She took her own saddlebag off of the ground. "Are you ready to go Sherlock?" She asked him.

Sherlock nodded, speechless. He shook his head clear of his previous thoughts. _Illogical_. "Let's go Mark." He said and left the room.

* * *

They rode until noon. Molly kept glancing at Sherlock, trying to memorize him. Trying to remember his black curls and galaxy eyes. Trying to make sure to never forget the way he held himself or the way he acted as if he was better than everybody else. She tried to memorize the way he walked. The way he spoke. Even the way he smiled. She tried to remember all of these things because whatever the person in the letter's purpose was, it was not good.

Sherlock seemed to be noticing her attitude. He looked over at her. His cold eyes running over her from head to toe, as if to read her mind. "Everything alright?" He asked.

Molly nodded. "Fine." She said. "Everything's fine." She stared off in to the distance. There was only farmland for as far as the eye could see. A few small houses doted the horizon. Her parents could be in any of them.

Sherlock steered his horse so that he was right next to Molly. "Are you sure?" He asked. There was tension in his voice. _What for?_ Molly wondered.

Molly nodded again, trying to reassure Sherlock. "Perfectly fine." She said even though everything was not fine. Someone had her parents. Someone could kill them any moment. Someone wanted to hurt her.

"I won't let anyone hurt you." Sherlock said. His voice was so quiet that Molly wondered if she'd imagined it. "I won't let anyone hurt you or your parents." Sherlock said a little bit louder.

Molly looked at him. He seemed to be telling the truth. "Thank you." She whispered.

Sherlock smiled at her, but said nothing. A few moments later he pulled his horse to a stop outside of a small, worn-down, farmhouse. "We're here." He said. He dismounted his horse and pulled a pistole out of his bag.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked him as she dismounted her own horse.

Sherlock looked at her. "I'm coming with you." He said stuffing the pistole in to his jacket.

Molly shook her head. "No, you're not." She said. She didn't want him to get hurt. Whatever was in that house, she would deal with it alone. He would not be hurt because of her.

"I am." Sherlock said.

Molly looked up at him. His eyes were filled with such determination. "You are not." She said. "I can't have you being hurt because of me."

"Nobody's going to get hurt because of you." He said and headed in to the farmhouse. Molly sighed in aggravation. _Why did he have to be so stubborn?_ She ran in to the house after him.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock stepped through the tiny doorway and in to what appeared to be the kitchen. That was odd. Most houses had the kitchen in the back, or seperate. He glanced around the room for clues. Nothing except for layers of dust that hadn't been disturbed in a long while. He trailed a gloved hand along the dust. A really long while.

"What is it?" Molly asked from behind him. She was whispering even though it was likely that they were the only two in the house.

"Nothing." Sherlock said, speaking in a normal tone of voice. "No one has been here for a very long time. Thirty years at the least." Sherlock watched as his words sank in.

"And my parents?"

"Are probably not here." He said.

Molly nodded. "I should have known." She said. Sherlock could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"They could still be somewhere else in the house." Sherlock said, trying to comfort her.

He searched the rest of the house. Nothing._ It couldn't be like this. _He ran through the rooms again. Nothing. _Molly's parents had to be there somewhere. _He checked the rooms once more. Nothing. _He couldn't let her down._ Nothing but dust and an old stove.

Someone was playing with them. "I'm sorry." He said to Molly.

Sherlock sat down against the stove, his hands in his face. He felt Molly sit next to him. After a while she asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Sherlock looked up at her. Though the room was dark, he could still see her. Her face was illuminated by the moonlight. She looked so beautiful. So perfect. So out of place in this old, broken down house. "Because I'm your friend." He said.

Molly shook her head. "But why are you?" She asked. "You don't owe me anything."

_I love you._

"I'm your friend." He said.

Molly shook her head. "A friend wouldn't help me like you are." She said.

_I love you_

Sherlock shrugged. "I like to solve crimes. I'm strange that way."

"But the good kind of strange." Molly said. She leaned her head against Sherlock's shoulder. "Thank you for helping me." She said closing her eyes.

"Your welcome." He said a few minutes later, but she didn't hear him. She was already asleep.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Sherlock lifted a sleeping Molly off of his shoulder and laid her against the stove. He answered the door. A boy was standing there. "Mr. Holmes?" The boy asked.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked. It was early in the morning. To early to be disturbed.

"I've got a message for you." The boy said. He handed Sherlock a letter. Sherlock handed the boy a coin and opened the letter. He glanced from the letter to Molly, who was sleeping against the stove, her hair falling down in ringlets around her head.

"Who gave this to you?" He asked the boy.

"Strange looking man." The boy said. "I didn't really see that much of him. It was dark."

"Thank you." Sherlock said. He closed the door and went to where Molly was. He reached a hand down to wake her then stopped himself. He would let her sleep. He sat down next to her and leaned his head on top of hers. "I love you." He whispered, but nobody was around to hear him.


End file.
